


Sensory Overload

by ivywatcher



Category: Stargate - All Series, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Character studies, Episode: s03e10-e11 The Return, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:52:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivywatcher/pseuds/ivywatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life on Earth is hard to deal with when home is now a galaxy away. How did those six weeks during The Return really go for the Atlantis crew? John, Rodney, Carson and the others try to get on with their lives. Whatever that means these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sound

**Sound**   
_  
“You'll find that empty vessels make the most sound.”_   
_  
****  
_

_Buzz._

 _Buzz._

Carson Beckett woke up with a violent start and reached for the non-existent gun at his bedside before realizing that it was just the phone vibrating on the nightstand.

His eyes adjusted to the shadows, heart pounding in his ears. The world slowly readjusted itself.

He was in his apartment. There were no Wraith, no Replicators, no medical emergencies. Just a dark room with doors he had to touch to open and the dull lights of Colorado Springs traffic on the street below. He could hear the refrigerator's muffled rumblings in the kitchen. The whole place smelled faintly of the Chinese take-out he'd ordered last night in a fit of indulgence.

Home. Or what was  _supposed_ to be home, at least.

_Buzz._

He cursed under his breath and let his head drop to his hands—they'd been on earth nearly a month now, and he _still_ acted like Wraith were beating down his door every time something unexpected woke him up. The world felt cold and strange around him. He suddenly wanted more than anything to see his Mum.

 _Buzz._

He took a deep breath and reached for his cell, clearing his throat in preparation. The red numbers on his alarm clock read 4:34. No wonder he felt so bloody tired. He didn't recognize the number on the phone display, but that had ceased to worry him weeks ago. Practically since the day they'd gotten back, members of the former Atlantis expedition had started calling him at all hours of the day and night from places he'd never even heard of.

Carson was glad to take the calls—he'd given his cell number out to everyone he could find before they scattere to the winds. Surprised as he was that people used it so often, he was silently relieved to discover that his friends hadn't _stopped_ being his friends just because they happened to be tossed all over the globe (the galaxy) on new assignments. Besides, at the moment, being there for whoever was on the other end of the line was much easier than dealing with himself.

His voice was gravelly when he answered. “H'lo?”

“Carson!” came the familiar voice of Radek Zelenka. The connection was bad, filled with static, and Zelenka's words echoed slightly in the earpiece. Carson winced and plugged his other ear, trying to focus.

“Hello, Radek,” he said with a smile. “I'd started to wonder about yeh.”

“Yes, well, I am calling from a pay phone at the University. I have only just arrived.” The Czech sounded tired.

Beckett blinked in surprise. “Only just? What kind of layover did they leave yeh with in Heathrow two weeks ago?”

The scientist chuckled darkly. “Oh, I landed here on time. I am afraid that my government had...a project I needed to work on. I cannot say more over an open phone line. But I told you I'd call when I was settled in, so...”

“Aye, it seems that's happened to just about everyone,” Carson sighed. “It's good to hear from yeh. I'd been thinking about tryin' to call.”

“ _Ano_ ,” Radek murmured. “I have been unreachable. As soon as I have a real apartment, I will call you with my number.” There was a half-second pause, one that Carson had become very familiar with from many other conversations much like this one. Radek, at least, got straight to the point. “Heard from anyone?”

Of course he had; he'd turned into the post-Atlantis switchboard operator over the last month. “Aye. There's..." he paused and pretended to count, even though he knew the number. "...must be fifteen of us still hangin' about in town. Elizabeth's still here as well. I've managed to get a hold of another dozen or so besides. Mostly the science folk; our military have gotten scattered all over the bloody planet in places that aren't supposed to exist. Most everyone I've spoken to is settlin' in.”

_Most everyone._ That was probably generous, but the last thing Radek needed was more people to worry about. Especially when he was stuck halfway around the world and couldn't do anything about it. 

Beckett took a moment to catch his breath before continuing casually, “They've given Rodney his own lab down in Nevada. John or I talk to him most every day; he's coming up this weekend for a visit.”

Radek gave a sigh that blended with the static. “It is good he has you. How is he?”

Carson smiled despite himself. The two scientists may have had a volatile relationship, but Carson knew that Radek and Rodney were good friends (and even better coworkers) despite it all. “Oh, he's managing things, in his own way. Terrifying his coworkers, complainin' endlessly about you bein' shipped halfway around the world.”

“I admit, working with others is not the same. I must say that I miss being on the same wavelength with someone. Not that I would ever tell him this.”

“It seems we're all expected to settle for less,” Carson agreed sadly. He thought of Elizabeth, sequestered in her apartment with her phone unplugged.

Despite the bad connection and the sheer distance between them, Zelenka didn't miss much. “Carson...do you want to talk?”

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his already messy hair. “Ach, it's nothin'. Just feelin' a wee bit lonely, I suppose. Bloody ridiculous, feeling it  _here_ , of all places.” Here as in the Milky Way Galaxy instead of Pegasus. He knew Radek understood.

“It is not the same,” Radek murmured. They shared a silent moment; the empathy felt good, better than Carson wanted to admit. Still, it was four in the bloody morning. Carson tried to breathe and ended up yawning right into the receiver instead.

 _"Prominte!"_ Zelenka chuckled. The moment broke. "Carson, I am sorry. I did not think. It is late there, no?" __

 __"Actually it's ungodly early," Carson admitted. "It's alright, Radek. I'm glad you rang."

The Czech made a _tsk_ that sounded downright maternal. "I will let you sleep. I will call you at a reasonable hour when I have an address. Remind me to get McKay's number from you. Tell the others hello for me?"

"'Course." The prospect of a quiet flat was a bit alarming all of a sudden. He forced himself to sound cheerful and unconcerned. "Ring me whenever you're free. Have a good evening."

" _Na shledanou_ ," Radek replied with warmth in his voice. The line cut abruptly, leaving Carson's ears ringing from the sudden lack of white noise. He wondered, just for a moment, what it would be like when at last the phone stopped ringing. He supposed he'd have to get on with his own life then. It was a terrifying thought.

Carson stared bleakly at the big read numbers on his alarm. It was nearly five anyway; there was no point in going back to be when he'd just have to get right back up in forty minutes. Besides, it was Friday; he could sleep all he wanted tomorrow before Rodney came in.

It was an odd thing, having the weekends off. He almost missed being on call around the clock.

Almost.

With a heavy sigh, Carson hoisted himself out of bed and went to start the coffee and face the day.

 

 


	2. Sight

**Sight** _****_

**__**

“ _The only thing worse than being blind is having sight, but no vision.”  
_

 

“Simms! Watch it!”

The warning came too late. Colonel John Sheppard watched in despair as the tree branch Mason had just pushed out of the way rebounded and caught Lieutenant Simms right between the eyes. The young man went down like a stringless puppet, right in the middle of the forest path. Mario Hernandez, their scientist tag-along for this mission, didn't have time to dodge his fallen teammate. His booted foot caught Simms square in the ribs and his momentum carried him forward as he tripped. The two men ended up tangled all over each other, yelling obscenities in their native languages. The hot, humid air of the planet muffled the sounds like a wet blanket. 

Sheppard missed Teyla and Ronon and their easy grace and training like he missed two severed limbs. He'd gotten spoiled, he now realized, having a team that could watch his back _ and  _ watch where they were walking. Not to mention they'd been people he could eat with, watch movies with, just hang with...he stopped that line of thought cold. He couldn't afford nostalgia when he was off-world.   


Sheppard closed his eyes and summoned wells of patience that had never before been taxed, not even by McKay. “You guys OK?”

Major Mason shot him a look that plainly said, _How can you tell?_

John ignored that (mostly because it was true) and leaned down. He managed to grab one of Hernandez's flailing hands and hauled him to his feet. The man swooped down to grab his specimen case and nearly toppled over again. John grabbed his shoulder and anchored him to the dirt. “There. Just keep both feet on the ground and we'll be fine.”

The botanist muttered something in Spanish that Sheppard didn't attempt to translate. Instead he turned to Simms, helping him up as well and dusting a few pine needles off his uniform. “Alright, I think we can call it a day. Why don't we head back for the Gate.” The sun was setting anyway; no point staying out after dark.

“No complaints from me, Sir,” Simms muttered with a pointed look at Hernandez. The lieutenant put a hand to his ribs and winced. “I think he broke one.”

“Great.” Sheppard closed his eyes again. “Landry's gonna love this. Alright, let's get moving.”

The walk back to the Stargate was tedious, mostly because Simms and Hernandez were seething mad at each other. As Mason dialed the SGC, he shot Sheppard a sympathetic glance. John was almost sorry the mission was over; Mason was the first team member he'd had this month that he'd actually like to see again. It figured the guy was just on loan from SG-13 for the day.

John's world dissolved into the black crushing rush of the wormhole, and for a few blissful nanoseconds he didn't think anything at all. Then his eyes opened again and he felt the pull of gravity on his limbs like a leaden weight. The Gate Room was filled with the blare of klaxons and booted feet when they came through. For at least the hundredth time since he'd been assigned to the SGC, John felt a sudden wave of cold claustrophobia assault his senses in the moment after he rematerialized. No matter how long he was here, John was starting to realize that he would always expect to see Atlantis' sunlit Gate Room and hear the sound of surf whenever he came home.

 _ Home.  _ Something that was a galaxy away now.  _ So _ far away from this cold, gray, landlocked mountain that sometimes he thought he could actually feel the unimaginable distance between here and there like a physical ache. Like a moon to the tide. Elizabeth would like the poetry. 

He handed off his P-90 to the nearest SF and turned in time to see Simms moving towards the exit, a hand pressed firmly to his ribs. With a heavy sigh, Sheppard followed after him, more out of a sense of obligation than anything else. He caught Simms at the elevator and was momentarily befuddled by the rows of buttons inside before he remembered to press 19 and not just think  _ Infirmary_.   


John was almost used to having to open doors by hand now—he'd only walked into one this week, and only Mitchell had been there to see it, so it didn't count. John stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, trying to hum a song in his head to block out the blank spaces he still reached for in his mind. He would  _ never  _ adjust to how absolutely silent this place was inside his head. He hadn't realized how much comfort he'd gotten from the steady hum of Atlantis in his brain until it was gone. Lights didn't turn on for him. He had to adjust the heat of his shower with the levers like everyone else.

It was like he'd been living the last three years with 20/20 vision, only to be suddenly blinded and shoved into a cave. He was just another human here. He really kind of hated it.  
Sometimes, he missed Atlantis itself almost as much as Teyla and Ronon.

Almost.

They came across Lorne outside the infirmary. Sheppard hung back and let Simms enter alone to reach a hand out to his former XO, now a member of SG-11. “Lorne!”

“How are you, sir?” the younger man seemed worn—it wasn't a good look for him. The hard man-made lights washed out his skin tone and made shadows on his face Sheppard hadn't seen before. John wished suddenly for a big bay window with real honest-to-goodness sunlight coming in through it.

“Fine. Hernandez broke one of Simms' ribs while we were collecting flora samples,” he replied with no inflection at all

Lorne's mouth twitched at the corners; John suddenly felt immeasurably better. “Seriously?”  


“Yeah,” he sighed. “But enough about me. How's  _ your  _ day been?”

“Just checking in for the pre-mission physical. We're off to some archaeological site to play lookout for Doctor Jackson.

Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, have a great time.”

“Thanks, sir.” The sarcasm in his voice was soothing, in a weird way. The major walked a few steps before turning again. “Oh, colonel...” his dark eyes flicked up and down the hallway quickly and lowered his voice, like he was breaking regulations. “You heard anything from Doctor Weir?”

"I..." John shook his head, totally blindsided. “...Not lately. Why?”

Lorne shrugged. “Just wanted to see how she's doing, I guess. She looked kinda shell-shocked when we got back, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sheppard said softly. Lorne started to move away again and this time Sheppard was the one to pause. “Hey, I'm seeing McKay this weekend; anything to pass along?”

“Sure,” Lorne grinned as the elevator opened for him. “Tell him not to have a heart attack whipping the new minions into shape.”

John entered the infirmary in a much better mood than he'd left the Gate Room.

He found Simms on the bed closest to the door, sitting shirtless in front of a highly amused Dr. Beckett.

Carson caught John's eye over the lieutenant's shoulder and winked before returning his attention to his patient. “So you mean to tell me this was an accident?”

“Kind of,” Simms muttered with a dark look at the floor. “Is it broken?”

Carson relented and reached for a long roll of bandage. “No, you've just got a nice bruise there. You'll have to be careful about puttin' pressure on it for a few days.” With practiced hands, he began to wind the bandage around and around the man's abdomen. “Here for your checkup, colonel?”  
Simms jumped a little and twisted around to see Sheppard, only to wince as the action pulled at his side. Carson put a firm hand on his arm and turned him round again, smothering a smirk.

John raised an eyebrow at him, even though he wasn't looking. “Just wanted to make sure Simms here was OK.”

“Aye, of course,” Beckett said wryly. He stood and cut the end of the bandage, tucking it neatly into the wrap around Simms. He patted the young man's shoulder. “Well despite alovely boot-shaped bruise above his second rib, he's fit as a flea.”

Simms looked up at him uncertainly. “...Is that a good thing?”

The doctor's eyes cooled the tiniest bit. “Aye, lad. Go on about your business, and come see me tomorrow, alright?”

The lieutenant was up and out the door almost before he got his shirt pulled over his head.

Carson watched after him a moment before giving a sigh and turning to John. “Something I can do for yeh, colonel?”

“Yeah,” John drawled, following Carson into his small office. His eyes went automatically to the Scenic Scotland calender on the wall where McKay's visit was penciled in. “About this weekend...could you take Rodney? I offered my place, but I haven't unpacked anything and the place is a mess. At least you've got a couch.”

Beckett shook his head and leaned against his cluttered desk. “You know, at some point you're going to have to actually admit that you live here now.”

“You been talking to those counsellors they're throwing at us?” John said with a grimace. His friend only raised an eyebrow at him. With a long sigh, John sat in the one chair in front of the desk. “Look, next time. I promise. I just need to get things straightened out.”

“ 'Course I will,” Carson said with a smile. “But I'll hold yeh to that. Next weekend, he's yours.”

Sheppard grinned wryly. “Thanks. I feel like a parent in a custody battle or something.”

They both shuddered at the mental images that conjured up. Soon, Beckett sobered and reached out to rest a warm hand on John's shoulder. “John, yeh alright?”  


“Yeah,” he said softly, and they both knew that he meant  _ No.  _ Carson waited patiently, eyes steady. John cracked. “I just...miss my team, I guess.”

“Aye,” Carson whispered. “I found myself wishing for some of Teyla's tea this morning.”

“Yeah, me too.” That was the least of it. John blew out a long breath and stood. “Well, I should go start another  _ very  _ exciting mission report.” He paused at Carson's door. “Hey, you heard from Elizabeth this week?”  


“No,” the other man said, face worried. “She hasn't returned my calls. I did hear from Radek this morning, though. He's settlin' in at the college.”

 _Settling in. _ The phrase that really meant,  _ Realizing that there's no going back, even if earth doesn't look right anymore. _

“We should stop by and see her. Maybe while Rodney's here...”

“That's a fine idea,” Carson agreed. “See you tomorrow, then?”

“I'll come with you to pick him up, if you want,” John offered. He'd take the drive to Denver over another hour staring at the walls of his box-filled apartment.

“Alright. I'll swing by at ten,”

John gave him a wave and left to find his own office and the mountain of paperwork it housed. It would be good to see Rodney again, and Elizabeth too.  
With them and Carson around, he could almost pretend that this place was home.

Almost.


	3. Touch

**Touch**

  
“ _No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness.”_

 _  
_

__ Heat. Blessed, glorious heat, at long last soaking into his fingertips and warming his mouth and throat.   


Rodney McKay breathed a reverent sigh and closed his eyes in order to savor this first sip of coffee. It was perfect—the kind of perfect that was usually only achieved by his own personal espresso machine and a good deal of concentration.   


When his eyes opened again, the dingy airport hallway and the dull people populating it seemed almost bearable. Not to mention he could finally feel his fingers, which had been frozen solid by his steering wheel on the drive to the airport. Rodney moved to the island by the coffee counter and waited impatiently behind a huge woman who was painstakingly removing napkins from the dispenser, one by one, to wrap around the base of an equally enormous blueberry muffin.   


McKay made an annoyed noise, the heat from the cup in his hands starting to burn rather than soothe. Finally, he burst out, “Oh, come  _ on!  _ Are six napkins really necessary for one muffin? What do you have, an eating disorder that keeps food from reaching your mouth?”   


The woman turned to stare at him, and Rodney was more than a little alarmed to discover that it was not actually a woman, but a  _ man  _ who merely looked like one. Why any male would ever wear that particular shade of lavender was something he didn't even want to think about.   


Rodney had learned enough from Sheppard to be able to evaluate the tactical advantages of a situation—and this situationdidn't have much going in his favor. He beat a hasty retreat, shifting his bag to his other shoulder in order to hold his precious coffee with his non-singed fingers. At the other end of the concourse, he finally found another coffee place with cup slips. He gratefully slid one around his mug, even though half its contents were now gone.   


It took him nearly fifteen minutes to find his gate, and by the time he got there he was informed by the obnoxiously perky brunette at the ticket counter that his flight to Denver had actually been moved to Gate 10—which was all the way down at the other end of the terminal.   


Rodney hurried off, muttering a few choice words under his breath. He hated airports. As a matter of fact, any kind of open, crowded place made him edgy these days. He was constantly looking over his shoulder, checking his peripherals,just like Sheppard had trained him. There were days when Rodney found himself wishing for his tac vest and a P-90, because without their steady weight he felt unable to deal with something as simple as going grocery shopping or driving on the interstate...or crossing an airport full of tired, oblivious civilians. 

He turned a corner and kept one shoulder at the wall out of habit before he caught himself. More to the point, perhaps, was that he was used to having three other people with him, matching his steps, telling him where to go, watching his back... 

Rodney missed his team. Everything felt wrong without them. It freaked him out at some fundamental level that left him fighting shudders and sudden twitches when he least expected it.  

His one trip to the local mall to buy kitchen appliances for his broom closet of an apartment had actually resulted in a mild panic attack, which he hadn't told anyone about, not even Carson. Carson had enough of everyone else's troubles on his plate without McKay complaining all the time.   


Or maybe he just really,  _ really  _ didn't want to talk about it.

He wasn't quite sure when the change had happened. For nearly all of his life--or at least a great percentage of it--he'd been content to work alone. He preferred it, even. But now he felt the absences of Teyla and Ronon (and yes, maybe even Sheppard) keenly enough to be constantly aware of his blind sides. He was exposed, vulnerable... _ alone. _   


He was only now beginning to understand that on Atlantis, he had never truly been alone. Zelenka had always been with him in the labs, ready to share his space and bump his shoulder in the midst of solving a problem. Even in his free time (what little of it there was), he couldn't remember a day passing without Teyla sitting with him or Sheppard running in with some new scheme, or Carson trying to get him to go fishing even though Rodney always said no. And even when he'd been by himself,  _ Atlantis  _ had been there, humming somewhere in the back of his mind.

At Area 51, his coworkers (or rather minions, because these so-called scientists didn't deserve to be associated with him on any kind of professional level) avoided him at all costs. Rodney had made a point of educating them on the various reasons of why he was superior to them as soon as he arrived. They had responded by becoming meek and servile, which was what he'd  _ thought  _ he wanted.   


It was driving him crazy. He was willing to admit that he might just possibly miss human interaction. A little. Maybe.   


McKay reached his gate just in time to board. He barely noticed the other passengers; he concentrated on squeezing into his window seat and promptly opening a science journal that was meant to scare people off. Instead of reading it, he ended up staring out the window as the plane took off. 

He felt the lift in his stomach as the wheels left the ground and the momentary rush of blood in his head as the city grew tiny below him. He wished for a Puddle Jumper's internal dampeners, with Sheppard at the controls. It was almost just like the feeling he'd gotten when he'd left Atlantis for the last time, only not as bad. Rodney let his mind drift, trailing along the corridors of memory until at last his eyes focused and settled on the magazine in front of him.   


The glaring errors in the principle formula two thirds of the way down the page pulled him abruptly back into the present. He rummaged in his bag until he found a pen, badgered the nearest flight attendant for a napkin, and spent the rest of the flight scribbling corrections and extrapolations furiously.   


When the plane landed in Denver (with an unnecessary amount of turbulence, in Rodney's opinion), he had writer's cramp and a burning desire to strangle the man next to him, who had been humming off-key to his MP-3 player for the entire trip.   


His annoyance evaporated when he saw John and Carson waiting for him at baggage claim. He felt a giddy rush of what might have been affection, but was probably just intense relief at the sight of marginally sane people.   


Even so, he dropped his bag and leaned into the quick hug Carson gave him. The doctor smiled widely at him. “Hello there.”   


Rodney smiled back, felt something in his chest unclench. “Carson. Sheppard.”   


The colonel looked decidedly uncomfortable with Carson's display of affection. After an awkward moment, he and McKay settled on shaking hands. “How ya been, Rodney?”   


“Uh...” For about half a second, Rodney thought about lying. He decided it wasn't worth the effort. “Terrible. You?”   


John made a face that was almost a smile. “Yeah. Got any bags?”   


“Just this,” he said, patting the one on his shoulder. “Left the laptop.”   


Carson's eyes widened in mock amazement. “You left your computer! Ach, yeh must have come down with somethin'.” He put a hand to Rodney's cheek, checking for a fever.   


The scientist rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, very amusing. Though I did feel slightly nauseous this morning; there's been a flu going around Area 51...”   


Sheppard rolled his eyes behind Rodney's back, unable to keep a smile off his face. Beckett grinned at him before giving McKay a professional once-over. “Never thought I'd say this, but you look a wee bit thin. Have you been eating?”   


“As much as in At—as much as before.”   


They all winced at his half-mention of Atlantis. John broke the tension by slapping him lightly on the arm. “So basically never, unless someone hands it to you.”   


Come to think of it, Rodney wasn't sure of the last time he'd eaten at work. No wonder he'd been having trouble concentrating. “...Yeah. Pretty much.”   


Carson grimaced at him. “Well, that means we'll have to fatten yeh up while you're here. We'll grab a bite on the drive back.”   


They headed for the exit. Rodney couldn't help noticing that they fell into step instantly, he and John flanking Carson in defensive positions.   


For the first time in a month, he felt safe. “It's good to see you,” he admitted.   


“Likewise,” John said softly, and Rodney let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.   


His shoulders relaxed. It wasn't exactly right, but it was close.   


Across the terminal, someone dropped theeir suitcase The sound of the handle ricocheting off the hard floor was so reminiscent of a gunshot that Rodney jumped, hand going down to a non-existent thigh holster for his gun.   


He caught himself a second later, flushing red with embarrassment. Then he noticed that Sheppard had done the exact same thing as him, and Carson was visibly tense, as if he'd just barely restrained himself.   


Of course Carson would be able to restrain himself. He hadn't been in many combat situations.   


And earth had always been  _ home  _ for him in a way it never had been for Rodney (or, he was willing to bet, John).   


They all looked at one another silently for a moment. Rodney was ridiculously glad they were here with him. In that moment, he felt like the entire rest of the world outside the three of them was strange and hostile.   


Maybe it was. They continued on without speaking, and Rodney tried very hard not to meet anyone in the eye.   


“So,” Sheppard finally said as they hit the parking lot, “We thought we might get Elizabeth to do dinner with us while you're here.”   


Rodney caught the concern in his voice only because he had years of practice in Sheppard-reading, and a lot of time with Teyla to compare notes. “How is she? She doesn't return my calls.”   


“No one can seem to get a hold of her,” Carson said. His concern was much easier to see, and Rodney shared it. Elizabeth was too good of a person to spend the rest of her life mourning something she had no control over.   


McKay himself was an egotistical, obnoxious person, and so had no problem doing  _ exactly  _ that for the rest of his life.   


The trunk of Carson's jeep opened as they reached it and the scientist threw his bag in. “Shotgun!” he announced with a triumphant grin at Sheppard.  


“Already called it before you got here,” John said with a matching grin.   


“That doesn't count! The rules of shotgun calling are strictly limited to within hearing range of all the participants involved!”   


“Hey, snooze you loose, McKay.”   


Rodney rounded on Carson indignantly. “Carson! Back me up here!”   


The doctor's mouth twitched, barely fighting off a smile. “If you two don't stop acting like a pair of bloody seven year olds, you're both sittin' in back! And straight home without dinner.”   


McKay was instantly cooperative, eyes innocent. “I will gladly sacrifice my well-earned right to sit in front if it will get me food.”   


“It's good to see yeh, Rodney.” Carson laughed and put his hand at the juncture of Rodney's neck and shoulder—something he'd never let anyone else do. Beckett ignored his friend's personal space bubble like it didn't exist, and for some reason he hadn't quite figured out yet, McKay continued to let him. He went around to the driver's side and got in.   


Sheppard patted Rodney on the other shoulder. (Alright, so maybe he let Sheppard do it too.) “You can have shotgun."  


McKay beamed at him. “Really?”   


“Sure,” John said easily. “After all, you're paying for dinner, right?”   


“How much does the Air Force pay you?” Rodney demanded as he got in the passenger's seat. He was grinning ear to ear and couldn't seem to stop. “Or is it just genetically encoded in you to mooch off of your better paid friends?”   


“Oh, stuff it, the both of you,” Carson said with evident affection.   


McKay settled back into his seat and sighed happily. While all was not perfect with the universe, for now all was at least acceptable in this tiny corner of this one planet.   


He knew it wasn't exactly right, could feel it in his bones.   


Rodney was starting to accept that it would have to be enough. 

For now.  



	4. Taste

**Taste**

 ****

“ _Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences  
of each.”  
_

 

“No _way,_ "  John choked out as he spat half a mouthful of beer across the table, sputtering with laughter. “The  _ wrong side of the road? _ ”

Carson groaned and ducked into his drink; his cheeks stung with a blush he couldn't hide. “Well I'd only been here a week, after all.”

“He told me he was a  _ local _ ,” McKay insisted, glaring at the memory as he neatly wiped drops of beer from his corner of the table. “Next thing I know he's turning onto the  _ left side of the road  _ and there are headlights coming at us!” He waved expansively, stained napkin in his hand. “I nearly had a heart attack. I thought he was a KGB agent who'd been sent to assassinate me and make it look like an accidental head-on collision.”

John leaned back, holding sides that ached from laughing as Carson swatted Rodney on the shoulder. “Oh, give it a rest. Besides, I could've just killed yeh when I did your physical at the mountain.”

Sheppard heaved in a big breath, cutting off the sound of his rather alarming laugh. “Wait," he said suddenly, leaning forward. Rodney caught on and mimicked him; their expressions were ones that Carson had grown to dread. "So you _mean_ that you almost killed  _ both  _ of us the first time you met us?”

Carson gave him a dark look and pointedly ate a French fry instead of answering. It was something he'd thought about more than once.

Rodney grinned over at the Scot. “What, is this a theme with you? No wonder you and Cadman get along! You only like her because she secretly wants to kill me!”

He felt himself wince at the mention of Laura—an instinctive flinch of regret that neither of his friends missed.

“What?” John asked suspiciously.

“I...nothing, really,” he sighed. It was a true statement, honestly, which was the real shame of it. “We've just fallen out of touch. She doesn't seem very upset about it.”

“Neither do you,” Rodney pointed out with unusual perception.

Carson just shrugged again and took a long pull of beer. The thought had occured to him. The other two men traded a glance, and then let it drop. For now.

“So, any luck with Elizabeth?” Rodney asked at last, more to break the silence than anything.

“Not since we got back,” John admitted. “I've been calling her a couple times a week, leaving emails...I started feeling kind of creepy, like a stalker or something.”

Carson sighed, setting down his empty glass. “Aye, I haven't managed to get a hold of her either. I keep meanin' to go over there and check on her.”

“You'd be best,” John said at once. “She always listened to you.”

Carson raised an eyebrow at him, eyes speaking volumes, and he knew John got the message, because John ducked his head guiltily and mumbled, “Fine, I know, OK?”

“What?” Rodney demanded, eyes shifting between them like he was trying to solve a math problem. “What'd I miss?”

“Nevermind,” Carson said gently, patting him on the shoulder. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and chucked it to the table. “Come on, we should be heading back.”

All three men reached for the bill at once. Carson backed off immediately, leaving John and Rodney glaring at each other in a silent battle of wills. This was a dance Beckett had seen them do countless times over countless things; for a second, he could have sworn they were in the mess hall in Atlantis.

But they weren't.

If they were, Teyla would be right between them, raising an eyebrow and trying not to smile. If they were, Ronon would be grinning into his plate of food and twirling his fork. If they were, Elizabeth would be only a radio call away, and she'd answer.

If they were, maybe Carson wouldn't feel so suddenly, horribly  _ homesick,  _ stuck here in this tiny little pub in the middle of a landlocked state he'd never meant to stay in to begin with.

They hadn't noticed his miniature crisis at all; they were still engaged in a staring match that finally broke when Rodney's expression softened. “Look, just...let me feel like I'm contributing, OK?”

Sheppard let out a long sigh. “We'll split it.” He headed off Carson before the doctor could even speak. “And you drove, so don't even try it.”

“Well, I certainly won't complain,” he agreed absently.

Rodney chuckled despite himself. “What are teammates for, after all?” he looked over; Carson had no idea what his expression looked like, but apparently it was out of the norm enough for Rodney to ask, “Carson?”

A long sigh escaped him, leaving his chest oddly empty. “Lord, I miss Teyla. Ronon too.”

They all went silent for a moment, suddenly aware of the huge gaps around them where their other friends were supposed to be. It was like constantly poking at an open wound, Beckett thought. The memories clung to everything like the tang of blood at the back of the throat, the smell of gunpowder in his nostrils.

He'd never thought of  _ homesickness  _ as such a violent thing before. He'd never thought to feel it on this planet at all, point of fact. It was a bad taste in his mouth.

Carson stood and pulled on his jacket, prompting the other two to do the same. “Speaking of the others,” he said to break his own train of thought, “I spoke to Radek yesterday morning. He said to say hello, and that he'd get your number, Rodney, next time he called.”

Rodney tried and failed to sound casual as he asked, “Ah, yes. And how's he doing?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. He was...detained, when he went back.”

“Typical,” McKay said with disgust that barely hid something like wistfulness. “That government of his probably threatened him with a firing squad if he didn't give them classified information.”

“Aye,” Carson said with a twinkling eyes. “He misses you too.”

He went ahead with John, leaving Rodney sputtering. Sometimes, that was just the best approach.

Carson was quiet for the rest of the drive, content to leave the other two to their familiar banter. He only broke out of his thoughts as they pulled into the lot in front of John's apartment.

He'd apparently missed quite a conversation, because Rodney was just wrapping up with, “I'm just saying that clearly you are mentally damaged for even  _ thinking  _ that the new  _ Enterprise  _ could possibly compare with--”

“Give it a rest, McKay,” John grinned from the backseat. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes,” the scientist said airily. “Go cater to your delusions.”

The smack Sheppard gave to the back of Rodney's head warmed Carson's heart. “Night, John.”

“Night Carson,” he replied with a grin.

For a long minute after John had gone inside, Carson just stared into the stark, quiet parking lot and tried to remember what he'd ever liked about this place. It was dry and dusty, dull and utterly normal.

Carson missed the tang of salt air on his tongue. He wondered vaguely if he wasn't going a bit mad. He'd always thought it would feel less natural than this.

“Carson?” Rodney's blue eyes were worried when Carson turned to look at him. “You want me to drive?”

He must be in quite the state if Rodney inquired after him twice in one evening. Carson gave his friend a smile that probably didn't reach his eyes. “No, no. I'll be alright. I'm just a wee bit tired, is all.”

The steady gaze Rodney gave him in return unnerved Carson more than he wanted to admit. He cleared his throat and pulled out of the parking lot, ridiculously glad when McKay let him be.

They ended up on Carson's small balcony, looking out at the dark mountains. Beckett rummaged around in the rumbling refrigerator and managed to find some drinks. Rodney took a long sip of the beer Carson handed him without even bothering to check the label as the doctor sat down beside him on an old ratty lawn chair.

He took a sip of his own drink and winced at the aftertaste. Bloody American beer.

“I always thought I'd have won the Nobel prize by now,” McKay said absently. Carson turned to seeing him staring off into the middle-distance, wondered what he saw.

Carson blinked out of his own thoughts and shook his head. “For heaven's sake, are you ever gonna give up on that?”

“No, really,” he insisted, gaze finding Carson's earnestly. “I'm what, almost forty? I should be world-famous and adored by millions for my great contributions to science by now. Instead I'm sitting with one of the only people in two galaxies I can stand in an apartment in Colorado because I hate my job too much to do it on the weekends.”

“Yeh're a brilliant scientist, Rodney,” Beckett said tiredly, leaning back. He belatedly realized he's just been complimented in a typically round-about way.

“Yeah,” his friend scoffed. “And what good does that do when I can't use it to  _ save  _ anyone?”

...Well. He had a point, at that. Carson gave a long sigh and cracked his neck, closing his eyes.

Rodney's sharp eyes widened innocently, making Carson uneasy. “What about you?”

“Sorry?” Carson's eyes opened against his own volition to look at Rodney.

The scientist gave one of his crooked grins. “Where did you think you'd be by the time you got here? In a lab someplace, I suppose?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Carson paused to give it some thought thought, looking out at the silent mass of the Rocky Mountains. Where had he expected to be by the time he hit this age? Certainly not here. And certainly never in another galaxy.

“I suppose I always expected I'd have a few wee ones by now. A nice lass to make a home with. A nice little practice somewhere, with enough to keep us above water and take a few trips to see my Mum and the rest of the family every now and again. Just a normal kind of life, really.”

“Hmm,” Rodney said, watching him with an odd kind of _respect_ in his expression that Carson had never seen before. “You still could, you know.”

Carson gave a wry chuckle and set his beer down. “Ach, I dunno. Seems as if I've done too much to ever hope for a normal anythin'.”

“Mmm,” Rodney agreed. He gave another almost-smile and raised his beer. “Well, to us, then. Bachelors that Atlantis ruined for other women.”

“Aye,” Carson chuckled and brought his can up to tap his friend's. He held Rodney's eye for a long moment before saying softly, “To friends.”

“To friends,” Rodney echoed. They drank.

Carson hated the bitter aftertaste of the beer, the grit in the breeze, the acidic burn of loss in his throat. But he found himself enjoying the evening, the old familiar stars in the night sky, the prospect of a free day and dinner with John tomorrow...even (maybe especially) Rodney's company.

Why was he complaining, really? What person's life ever turned out as they meant it to? It was a more comforting thought than he expected.

So he swallowed the bitterness. Then he took a deep breath and went to make up the couch for Rodney.

 


	5. Scent

**Scent**

****

“ _You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will,_

_But the scent of roses will hang round it still.”_

_  
_

John was somehow completely unsurprised that the sharp smell of smoke was coming right from Carson's apartment. Of  _ course _ , two hours before Rodney had to catch his flight, something would just happen to go up in flames. Dense air was leaking through the space around the hinges.

He opened the door without bothering to knock. The tiny living room was clouded with acrid smoke, like a chemical fire. “Someone let Rodney cook?”   


“Very funny, colonel,” Rodney said through a bout of coughing. He appeared from the direction of the kitchen, waving his arms wildly to disperse the smoke. “Carson! Why isn't the smoke alarm going off?”   


“Because the bloody thing's  _ broken _ , that's why!”   


John winced. Someone was clearly not having the best morning of his life.   


A moment later the Scot came in from the bedroom, coughing into his hand. “There! All the windows are opened. I'm going to kill that _bloody_ icebox!”  


Sheppard looked from one to the other, eyebrows raised incredulously. “The  _ refrigerator  _ is smoking?”   


“Don't ask me how,” McKay said darkly. “It shouldn't be physically possible. It must have blown a fuse. Or some underpayed idiot at the Haitian factory wired it wrong to begin with.”   


Carson stumbled in from the bedroom, cellphone in hand, muttering something in a language John didn't even know. He traded a look with Rodney. “Ready to go?”   


“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “My lungs are going to be permanently damaged! I bet I've already lost precious years of my life breathing this in.” He hurried over to the couch and scooped up his bag. “Carson! We're going!”   


That earned him what sounded like a curse. Rodney looked impressed despite himself. “I hope whoever answered at the customer help number knows Gaelic.”   


By the time they'd made it halfway to Denver (John was very glad he'd volunteered to drive, because Carson talked with his hands while he was on the phone), Beckett had managed to berate at least two repairmen and a saleswoman into replacing his fridge, free of charge, by the end of the day. John had never before appreciated just how stubborn the other man could be. No wonder he could put up with Rodney so well.   


Finally, he gave a long sigh from the back seat and shut his cellphone. “My battery's nearly dead.”   


“I should send you some of my minions to intimidate,” Rodney said with a grin. John looked over at him in surprise, because that was about the closest thing to a compliment he'd ever heard Rodney pay anyone.  


“Aye, well, I think I have a right to be a bit miffed.”  


“Sure,” Sheppard agreed easily. “I can still smell smoke.”   


“Lung damage,” Rodney repeated.   


“Yes, Rodney,” Carson said sweetly. “I'm sure you've suffered significant trauma. You'll probably lose a few years.”   


The ensuing panic attack lasted them all the way to the airport. It was so familiar and expected that John found himself grinning incessantly as he found a place to park.   


As soon as the car stopped, so did McKay. An unhappy silence settled over the car as they were suddenly faced with the idea of separation. Again. John stared out the window and tried to act like a normal adult man instead of an emotionally unsteady teenage girl. It only sort of worked. 

Rodney sighed heavily and reached to unbuckled his seatbelt. “This is ridiculous. Look, let's just...”   


“Aye,” Beckett said simply. They got out, unloaded the car. They walked in silence, letting the babbling crowds part around them and blur to faceless shapes, until John and Carson couldn't go any farther without getting taken out by security.   


Rodney turned and opened his mouth to speak. Carson cut him off with a brusque, “See you later, Rodney.” 

John was once again amazed as Carson brought Rodney into a quick hug that the scientist absolutely didn't dodge. When had McKay turned into such a softy? 

When had John started thinking of human displays of emotion as getting soft? 

Carson pulled back as his phone rang. “Ach, I should take this. It's probably the repair men.” 

“Have fun,” McKay said with a grin. They held eye contact for a minute before Carson turned and strode away, plugging one ear to hear the person on the other end. It was a pretty graceful excuse for an exit, and John was intensely jealous. 

That just left the two of them, then. 

John turned back to Rodney—his friend, his annoyance, his  _ team— _ and found himself at a loss for words. For a second, he thought he could smell smoke and gunpowder and blood, and somewhere out there the phantom tang of the ocean he could never quite shake from the back of his thoughts. “Look...”

“Look,” McKay said at the exact same time. They grinned weakly at each other. “I can't make it out next weekend; some idiot conference that I have to go to with Lee. But the week after that, I'm totally here.”   


“We'll try and get Elizabeth out,” John vowed. “Hey, maybe I'll have a couch by then.” 

“Yeah, and maybe you'll have finally done something with that slightly-better than mediocre brain of yours and actually join MENSA.” 

John felt his lips tugging into a smile despite himself. “Take care, Rodney.” 

He surprised the heck out of both of them by pulling Rodney into a hug so quick it was practically non-existent. 

The scientist stepped back and cleared his throat. “Look, I, uh...” 

“Yeah,” John said simply. He got it. 

He was maybe the only one that  _ could  _ get it.

Rodney gave him a smile that was almost enough to convince John that everything was going to be alright. 

Almost. 

Someday. 

They reached out and ended in a solid handshake. John let him go and tipped him a mock salute. “Talk to you tomorrow.” 

Rodney waved a hand in silent goodbye. He turned on his heel and walked away, and he didn't look back once. That made John proud in a way he couldn't fully articulate, even to himself. He stood there until Rodney cleared security and turned for one last aborted wave before he disappeared into the crowd. 

He heaved out a long breath and stuck his hands in his pockets. “See you later, Rodney.” 

"What's that now?" 

He turned to see Carson standing at his shoulder, head tilted expectently. John looked him over once, checking for signs of distress, giving in to habits he was no longer going to try and break. "Nothing," he said at last. He reached out and clapped Carson on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get home."  


"Home," Carson repeated with a quiet, sad look in his eyes. But he let John lead the way towards the exit. It was something. 

This wasn't Atlantis. John was starting to realize that whatever he could find of it here, whoever he could keep, was going to have to be enough. 

John suddenly remembered sitting on in the  _ Daeudalous'  _ mess with Teyla, the smell of stale food and metal and plastic in his nostrils, hearing his own voice in his ears: __

_“You, Elizabeth, Ronon, Carson...even Rodney, are the closest thing I have to...”_ __

_“Family?”_ __

_“I'd do anything. For any one of you.”_

Anything. 

Including live on Earth for the rest of his natural life with Teyla and Ronon in another galaxy. Including trek through the Gate with one idiot team after another and come back to a cold gray mountain that would never be home, would never call him favored son. He could do what he could for his family where he was, at least for another two weeks until they had to remind him why all over again. 

With one last look at the departure board to make sure Rodney was leaving on time, John turned back and went to find Carson. 

This wasn't home. But it was what they had. 

It would have to do. 

They'd _make_ it do. They were the freaking Atlantis team. This planet didn't stand a chance.  


**Author's Note:**

> This is an older work--one of my first for this fandom, actually. I chose to update/repost it because it's a reminder why I so loved this show to begin with. The characters are brilliant. I still like getting to play with them a little, even after all this time. I suppose some fandoms, we never grow out of.
> 
> Thanks for your reading time; as always, it is very much appreciated and coveted. Your comments are also welcome. How do you think it went?


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